


Let's Get Screwed

by greenbucket



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Winter Screw, past March/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: “Nah, I’m fine,” says March, and it’s like, true other than the bittersweet sting she still feels sometimes when she realises how far Ransom’s name has fallen in her text history, and the fact that she–Her heart sinks. They wouldn’t. No way.It’ll work out.Oh, fuck. They totally would.





	Let's Get Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> For my 'Winter Screw' square in the OMGCP Rarepair Bingo.

March walks into the living room, sees April’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with her studying spread out on the coffee table, and decides to just go for it. “Hey, April, about Winter Screw–”

“Katie already said she’s screwing me with someone,” April interrupts. She swaps her green highlighter for pink and carries on, “I picked her Jason Ortega from swim team, so I’m done with Winter Screw duties. Sorry.”

“Oh, phew!” March says, and the relief of it has her throwing herself down on the couch behind April, arms stretched out and head resting on the backrest. Carefully, though, to avoid upsetting the stacks of notes. “Anita said she’s already picked someone out for me, so I guess that means I have to pick someone for her? Like, to be polite. And I was like, okay, cool, I’m _pretty_ sure she said she’s into Marisa, and I’m _pretty_ sure Marisa still isn’t screwed with anyone so like, sorted, right? But then I realised that maybe you were already gonna screw me! And so–”

“No, you’re good,” April interrupts again.

“Oh,” says March, but she doesn’t feel as relieved now. April had almost been sharp with her that time, and April is like, kinda short with people generally, but she’s not usually _sharp_. Especially not with March. “Okay. You’re cool with it all then?”

“Yup,” says April, and when she highlights the next section of her reading the pen skids all the way to the edge of the paper and onto the coffee table. She wipes at the pink stripe impatiently, achieving in smudging it into the linoleum table top and not much else.

“Um,” says March. April does not seem in a good mood, and March knows she can be chatty and when April is in a bad mood she does not do chatty. March sits forward from and tries to think what to say, how to find the balance she’s pretty good at finding when she tries, but as it turns out April is annoyed enough by whatever it is not to need the usual prompting and cajoling.

“It’s just,” April starts, capping her highlighter (sloppily, which is a bad sign) and turning to face March, “Katie was all ‘it’s a surprise’ and since when has Winter Screw had surprise dates? Like, it’s probably some dumb joke – and whatever, fine – but what level of asshole has she found me that it needs to be a _surprise_ to make sure I don’t back out?”

March takes a moment to consider. April looks like, _agitated_ , almost upset, and, “Anita told me my date was a surprise, too,” says March.

That pulls April up short. “Huh.”

It’s a pretty neutral kind of ‘huh’, and April’s face has gone kinda blank, closed off. To fill the silence March explains, “I figured Anita was just trying to make it extra fun for me? Since I know she thinks I’m still super broken up about the whole thing with Ransom.”

“You aren’t, right?” April asks, even though March knows she knows the answer. April has listened to her talk through the entire emotional process of breaking up in real time, provided sympathy and snacks and trash talking like a trooper.

(And like, even though it had been supes amicable and mutual and March knows they can be friends again with time, there did need to be the trash talking and independent-woman playlist period.)

“Nah, I’m fine,” says March, and it’s like, true other than the bittersweet sting she still feels sometimes when she realises how far Ransom’s name has fallen in her text history, and the fact that she–

Her heart sinks. They wouldn’t. No way. She’d drunkenly (mid-independent-woman period) confessed that to Anita in _confidence_ while April was in the bathroom, under the secure cover of ear-splitting Destiny’s Child. What had Anita said? _Don’t stress about it, March, it’ll work out_?

_It’ll work out_. Oh, fuck. They totally would.

April has turned back to her notes, highlighter still pressed a little hard to the paper (March is pretty sure the ink is going to leak through to the page behind) but her movements more measured. “I guess Katie made like, a captain decision to made Winter Screw more interesting for everyone? I mean, it’s not like she could make it more _boring_. At least it’s our last one.”

“Yeah,” March agrees, even though she’s got a creeping suspicion that’s not the case at all. And she’s always kind of loved Winter Screw.

“This place has way too many dances,” April sighs, turning the page and sighing again when it turns out the ink has leaked through, leaving blotches all over. “I wish someone had said, though. I could’ve kept Jason a secret for her if I’d known.”

“Same,” says March weakly. She kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet under herself on the couch, resisting the urge to start playing with her hair. If April sees, she’ll know something’s up. “Mind if I turn the TV on?”

“Knock yourself out, I’ve studied through worse than your shitty reality TV.”

March makes sure she settles on a rerun. It is just reality TV, but she likes to keep up with it properly and get vicarious catharsis through their weird lives; right then she can’t focus, watching blankly and carefully not paying attention to April even though she’s right in her line of vision, willing the noise to block out her thoughts.

\---

By the time Winter Screw comes around, March hasn’t forgotten her suspicions by a long shot, but she’s made her peace with them. Like, what’s going to happen is going to happen, and maybe– after all, there had been that one time– well, anyway, it probably won’t be a disaster if what she thinks will happen happens.

March is feeling kind of wound up about it though, when it comes to actually getting ready for the dance.

It’s an awkward conversation, asking Caitlin if she can get ready with her at the Haus (because her and Chowder are sickeningly sweet and want to get ready together). It’s especially awkward since Ransom will be there, but it’s worth it.

The walk there gives her some time to clear her mind – in part because it’s too fucking cold to like, have thoughts – and then the Haus stinks and is full of hockey players trying to put on dress clothes. It’s a calming kind of chaos.

She shares a bathroom with Chowder (who apologises profusely when he fucks up Caitlin’s lipstick managing to slice a chunk off with his braces); Cait (who just laughs at Chowder and kisses his cheek before evening out the lipstick with her thumbnail); and Lardo (who watches March try and fail to apply eyeliner for a few minutes before giving in, jumping up to sit on the counter and doing it for her in two quick, sure strokes).

More calming chaos. Not much processing space for worrying, which is good.

“Thanks,” says March, when Lardo tells her to open her eyes.

She checks how it looks in the mirror behind Lardo and she’s pleased to see she looks _good_. Blue eyeshadow and dark red lipstick should be a disgrace, and it was about ten minutes ago, but Lardo’s done something to deepen the blue. It matches March’s dress (which has pockets!), now, and compliments the depth of the red instead of clashing with it.

Lardo says, “I did good, right?”

“Hell yeah, you did. Almost like you’re an artist or something,” she jokes, then looks away from the mirror and back to Lardo. Her mouth goes dry.

With Lardo sitting the counter to reach, March has ended up between her legs. Their faces are close even now the eyeliner-ing is done. March can see where Lardo has dusted some glitter near her eyes.

Caitlin and Chowder have slipped into his room to find a missing earring. The bathroom – already pretty small – feels somehow smaller and closer than it did with four people in it. March has pre-gamed quite a bit already to take the edge off her nerves and she finds herself caught on how Lardo’s mouth is slightly open, lips lipstick-shiny. She watches Lardo watch her looking.

And, God, feelings are the worst – Lardo looks really good, and March is like into it and lowkey wants to go for it? But she can’t get _into_ it. Because she doesn’t know for sure, but tonight she might be on a sort of, kind of date with–

March looks away. Her heart is pounding.

Lardo pushes her back gently, says, “No probs, dude,” and it’s probably in response to more than March’s thanks. She wanders off to find her shoes.

March breathes out, adjusts her boobs for something to do and because this dress is showing a fair bit of cleavage, and resists the urge to put on another layer of lipstick.

“You look _so_ hot,” Cait says approvingly when everyone starts gathering on the porch (it’s freezing) ready to go (like, so, so fucking cold).

“Not as hot as you,” March replies, pinching Caitlin’s cheek and choosing to ignore Ransom looking over at Caitlin’s comment. “Although this dress does have pockets, so, you know. I win there.”

“No way,” says Cait. “Pockets? Sweet! It doesn’t look like it would.”

“Right?” March puts her hands in them to demonstrate. “Anyway, enough chit chat, don’t act like you aren’t in on this whole surprise date schtick. No clues at all?”

Caitlin shrugs. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

March feels her eyes narrow. “What was your price?” (Always good knowledge for future reference, though March really does hate trivia gathering.)

“One get out of morning practice free card,” says Caitlin, smug.

“Ugh, fuck you.”

March walks with the SMH crew as far as she can before she has to split off; Anita had said to meet her mystery date by the well in the middle of Lake Quad, and March is breaking out in clammy, nervous sweat as she listens to the others chatter fade away. She’s really, really been trying not to get her hopes up (because even if her suspicions are right, that doesn’t mean what she _wants_ is gonna happen), but her heart is back to pounding as she nears middle of the quad.

There’s no one else standing at the well.

March walks the whole way around and there’s no one. Who would choose to stand by the well when it’s night time in the middle of winter? Not March, if she had her way. She sits on the edge of the well (even though this dress was kind of pricey and she knows everyone pees in this thing for luck) and checks her phone. Turns out she’s a little late, so great – she’s either missed her mystery date, or her mystery date isn’t coming.

That, or her mystery date is never on time for anything. Not even afternoon classes, not even when March sits on her legs and chants _get up get up get up_ in the most annoying singsong voice she can. Not even when it was March’s birthday in freshman year and she’d been the only person March invited to her birthday lunch, because she hadn’t actually made all that many friends yet, and even if March had, there was only one person she really wanted to be there.

And then that person had been late, and supes apologetic and guilty when she realised she was the only one invited and March had gone ahead and ordered birthday lunch for herself and by herself, so maybe that person will be late again, and apologetic, and guilty, and when March tells her that she knows it’s been years but–

“Oh, _fuck_ you, Katie.”

March looks up, not even surprised, because she’s known deep down the whole time: it’s April.

She’s stopped a couple of paces away, and her arms are already folding across her chest and bunching her suit jacket around her shoulders, and she’s staring at March with her jaw tight. Her eyes might be shining, but that might just be the shitty street lights; March still wants to get up and pull her into a hug, if she thought April would let her, and tell her that it’s because she’d told Anita everything (almost) and they’re only trying to be good friends and help.

March stays put.

Like, mostly, March ignores it. Because she got used to it after a while, or she made herself get used to it anyway.

It being the whole thing where April is her best friend, but also super, super beautiful, and hot, and an amazing teammate, and an awesome person, and so honest and real, and March likes her in a way she knows is a not-friend way and would date her in a hot second at the first genuine, non-rebound, legit opportunity.

And the thing where she still remembers what it felt like when they kissed, the feeling of April’s body against hers, and the sounds she made, and the feeling in March’s chest, like her heart was cracking open and like she could’ve melted away.

It happened a couple of times, and every time they laughed it off when they eventually pulled apart, even though both of them knew it wasn’t just experimenting or just having fun or anything else but that heart-cracking, melting-feeling reality.

March had liked Ransom, genuinely and truly, just like she’s liked all the other people she’s dated at Samwell. She wouldn’t have dated them if she hadn’t, and in most cases, she still likes them, even if it’s not like that anymore. And she’s sure with time the tiny flame of feeling for April will fade, if she can just find someone who makes her feel the same way – she just hasn’t, yet.

April doesn’t look pleased to see her. That’s fine. March’s hopes were up a bit (a lot) despite her best efforts, but she’ll be fine. It’s almost winter break; she’ll wait until she can go home and cry into her pillow for a bit and wallow with her family around her, then she’ll make herself get used to it again.

“Hey,” March says belatedly. “You’re late. Surprise?” She throws in a half-hearted jazz-hands.

April’s expression turns betrayed. “Fuck you, too, then,” she spits, and turns to march back down the path behind her.

March gets the sinking feeling that she might have misread the situation. She nearly loses her purse in the well as she scrambles to her feet (why is she wearing heels? She would’ve towered over any guy in them, and she knows a lot of dudes feel insecure about it, except April always said–) and after April, who’s already halfway out the quad. Fucking sensible dress shoes.

“April, wait!”

 April keeps walking, head down and arms still right around herself. If March didn’t think she’d lose toes to frostbite, she’d take of her stupid heels and run after her, but as it is she’s lucky that each of her strides is like two of April’s; she catches up pretty quick, falling into step beside her.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” says April, still looking down. March can tell she’s trying to sound angry but her voice wavers towards the end and March’s own throat gets tight. She’s way too tipsy for this.

“April–”

“Leave me alone.”

“Listen–”

“ _No_ ,” says April, coming to a stop so abruptly March ends up a step ahead of her and has to turn back around. April looks furious, and tearful, when she does. “I’m sure you think this is very fucking funny, but it’s not. This is cruel, and I don’t deserve it. You guys are supposed to be my friends.”

“We _are_ your friends,” March says, trying to keep her voice steady. “April, I wouldn’t– this isn’t a joke, or whatever, what the fuck?”

April glances at March and away. March blinks back the tears stinging in her eyes; they’re a bit at the hurt in April’s face that it hurts _March_ to see, even if she doesn’t understand it yet, and a bit at the hurt she feels in herself. That April would even think March capable of that.

“Well this is supposed to be a surprise, and you don’t seem very surprised,” April says eventually, tone carefully even, “so how about you tell me what’s going on.”

Like an idiot, March says, “I don’t… know?”

April’s eyebrows raise. “You don’t know,” she says, voice flat.

She doesn’t sound mad, exactly, but she doesn’t _not_ either. It’s somewhere around disappointed, and March hates disappointing April, and it’s been such a mess of emotions and confusion and before she can stop it she’s the one crying. It lasts like, three seconds before she reigns it back in, but still.

“Ugh, sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes while trying to salvage Lardo’s eye makeup work. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to like, make you feel bad, or whatever, with the crying.”

“No, come on, it’s okay.” April’s mouth twists and she clearly makes a conscious effort to unfold her arms and actually look at March. “ _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry, it’s just that this is a bit of a nightmare.”

_A nightmare_. Cool. March is _not_ going to cry again.

“Okay,” she says, and she only sounds like she wants to cry a bit. “Well, um, this is kind of awkward then? But I wasn’t surprised because I kind of told Anita that I’ve had a crush on you since forever.”

April’s eyes go wide, so March shuts her own and barrels on. “And then when we both got told our date was secret, I just kinda figured… yeah. And I suppose Katie’s in on it? And definitely Caitlin. And probably the whole team. But I _swear_ , it’s not a joke, or being cruel. They’re just trying to be good friends. Sorry.”

On the one hand, March is horrified that that all actually just came out her mouth. On the other, it’s a bit of a relief to get it all off her chest. Even if it’s happening on Lake Quad and her hands and feet are going numb. Even if this is apparently April’s nightmare. Oh, God, March has fucked it all up. She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

April’s eyes are still wide. “You told Anita you have a– a _crush_ on me?”

“Sorry,” says March. “I know you said this is like, not what you wanted. We can still be friends, right?”

April laughs. She _laughs_ , weird and clipped and not like her laugh at all, and March is not going to cry. She’s not. She’s not. Nope.

Except it turns out April is crying, just a bit, through her weird not-laughter.

“Oh, April! Shit, no, don’t cry.” March dithers then opens her purse to try and locate a tissue.

“Katie is definitely in on this, because _I_ told Katie that I’ve had a crush on _you_ since forever,” April explains, waving away the crumpled tissue March has found and dabbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I– I don’t know. Sorry about… that. My mind just automatically went to the worst-case scenario, because here I am all ready to spend the evening with some dickwad but instead it’s you? Which is like, the dream-case scenario, in case you were wondering.”

March registers some stuff they’ll need to talk about later – there’s a lot of stuff they’ll need to talk about later, probably – but mostly she’s stuck on the ‘ _I’ve had a crush on_ you _since forever_.’ The world feels flipped on its head. In March’s head, it’s always been her pining after April, crushing on April, potentially ruining a friendship with April, because in no scenario did April like her _like that_ back. They’d kissed a bunch, and nothing had come of it, so obviously not a match.

Except April has a crush on her. And has for ages. April _likes her back_. What are the fucking odds? March must be the luckiest person in the universe. April – _April!_ – has a crush on her and likes her and said going to Winter Screw with her is a _dream-case scenario_.

“Surprise,” March says, pulling out the jazz-hands again. “I’m pretty sure I like you too.”

April shoves her hands in her pockets, but her shoulders are slowly coming down from around her ears. “Pretty sure?” she asks.

“Very sure,” March corrects. “Wow! I really just said that. I’m very sure I like you, April.”

“Okay,” April nods and rocks on the balls of her feet, “then I’m very sure I like you, too.”

March hadn’t realised how much she wanted to hear April actually say it until she’s said it and March’s like, soul is singing. God, they’re both idiots. Realising this, she says, “We’ve probably made this harder for ourselves than it needed to be, huh? Like, the girls got involved. That’s bad.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” April agrees, like it’s no big deal, even though March is pretty sure it’s one of the Things They’re Going to Need to Talk About. “We probably could’ve tried to say something like, the first time we kissed. Maybe any time within the last three and a bit years.”

“But now we’re saying something?” March asks. Just to be sure.

April says, “Didn’t I just say I was very sure I liked you, March?”

March tells her, “You did.” And then, before she can start getting dizzy with the new reality where April is very sure she likes her, March asks, “Don’t laugh, but you said going to Winter Screw with me is the dream scenario. Were you being legit?”

“Kinda,” April shrugs. “Like, fuck Winter Screw, but if I have to go with anyone I’d want it to be you, you know?”

“Katie and Anita are going to be so smug if they ever hear that,” March warns her.

April makes a face. “Good thing they’re not here, then. And good thing they only screwed us together because we both told them, independently, that we liked each other.”

“Fair point. No matchmaking awards for them yet, then.”

“At least they didn’t stick us in an elevator or something,” says April. “Just made us put on fancy clothes and stand in the cold next to the piss fountain and talk about feelings. And now we go and dance and like, act on feelings.” She pauses. “Hopefully for longer than just tonight?”

She doesn’t sound particularly eager for the dancing, and there’s the hesitance in the last bit, and the words ‘piss fountain’ were in there, but there’s a quiet contentedness in April’s voice that wasn’t there before. March loves it.

April’s hands are out of her pockets, too, and she’s closed the distance between them that March hadn’t even realised was wide enough to be bothering her. She is so smart.

“ _Definitely_ for longer than tonight,” says March firmly. “I didn’t wait three years for one night.”

April says, “Me neither.”

Shit, they were _agreeing to date_. Surreal didn’t cover it.

“Awesome, that’s that settled. But, to be supes clear? We don’t _have_ to go to Screw, as like, a condition of dating,” March says, even though she would really like to go. “I know you don’t even like dances.”

“No way, you got dressed up,” April protests, gesturing at March in a way she thinks is meant to encompass her whole outfit, head to toe. Then she looks down at herself, and says, slightly taken aback, “ _I_ got dressed up.”

“You look _amazing_ ,” March blurts before she can stop herself.

Now neither of them are on the brink of tears – or at least not sad ones, because March could do with a happy-crying session – and now she knows she’s allowed to look, that her looking is welcomed, March can’t ignore just how good April dressed up is. Her jacket and pants are matching, deep plum, and tailored to fit like a dream. Her white shirt is crisp and bright enough to stand out in the dark, her usual pearl studs carrying the color through.

March can’t pull her eyes away from April’s checkered bow tie, from the line of her neck and her shoulders. She can feel her own pulse beating in her throat, just from the looking.

April seems sceptical at first, but clearly some of the heat March is feeling in her stomach must be showing in her face and April’s expression clears. “Yeah?” she says, straightening her jacket and preening a little.

“Yeah,” says March, and the word comes out with a lot more weight than she’d intended. Lake Quad is still deserted, but the quiet and the air feel abruptly closer and heavier. If March couldn’t feel her cheeks already glowing with the cold, she’s pretty sure they would’ve gone red for entirely different reasons.

April’s eyes are dark. “So do you,” she says. “Look amazing, I mean.” She clears her throat and continues, a little awkwardly, “Um, this is the same suit I wore last year.”

“I know,” says March. “I was so jealous of your date.”

April frowns. “Didn’t you go with Ransom that year?”

March looks away, the shame stinging. She really, really had liked Ransom – he’d been a great boyfriend, and he was sweet, and funny, and so, so hot – but it had been complicated. For both of them, she’s pretty sure, but it’s still not something she feels good about.

April winces. “Shit, sorry, that wasn’t fair of me,” she says, taking March’s hand. She waits quietly until eventually March looks up from her feet, and some of the sting eases when she sees there’s no judgement in April’s face. Just another Thing They’re Going to Need to Talk About.

Also, holy shit, they’re holding hands.

“We’re holding hands,” she points out stupidly.

“Yup,” says April, smile breaking across her face. It never fails to make something in March glow happily, even when April’s smiling over one of her awful fucking nonsense intertextual bullshit memes. Now the glow is like, quadruple its usual size. “You are my Winter Screw date, after all.”

It’s literally the most inconsequential milestone of a relationship, that doesn’t even exist to most people, and April doesn’t even like Winter Screw, but March is still so delighted to hear it said aloud that she squeaks a little with it.

“And Winter Screw dates hold hands?” March clarifies. She’s still technically tipsy, okay, and it turns out her best friend likes her back – she’s allowed say some dumb stuff this evening.

“They do,” April agrees. “We’re gonna hold hands all the way over there, and then we’re gonna dance to the shitty music Samwell picked, and you’re gonna get some water in you.”

“I’m not drunk,” March says quickly. She grabs April’s other hand for emphasis. “Shit, April, really, I’m just buzzed. Like, a little bit. I’m still fully on board with this, and us, and everything, but I fully get if you’re not like, comfortable or whatever and if you don’t want to, uh– do… anything. Later.”

April smiles again, and March’s stomach explodes into butterflies. But like, happy ones, and ones put at ease by their beautiful amazing best friend maybe-soon-to-be-girlfriend’s smile.

“Hey, no, don’t worry, I know,” April says. “I just also know you hate having a hangover.” She takes one of her hands back and starts to lead them across the quad. “As for stuff happening, uh, _later_ – let’s see where the evening takes us, okay?”

_Hooooly shit_ , says March’s brain. “Okay,” says her mouth.

“Nice _The Fault in Our Stars_ reference,” says April, smirking. “Go us.”

March shoves her, just a bit. “If you want me to cry again and mess up my make-up even more, go ahead and keep on talking about that fucking book.”

April pulls her in with an arm around her waist. “Sorry,” she says, knocking her head against the vague area of March’s shoulder. “I forgot you legit cried reading that. All those emotions you’ve got bubbling in there.”

March puts her arm around April’s shoulders and says, “Nothing wrong with emotions.”

“True,” April agrees, and March thinks she maybe feels what could possibly be April dropping a kiss on the bare skin of her forearm, but she’s not going to think about it too closely in case she like, collapses.

They walk in silence for a minute or two longer, slower now, and March tries not to be so happy she floats away. April’s hand moves up and down March’s side, slow and soothing. Just before they make their way through the doors of Screw, surrounded by drunk and rowdy Wellies and trying to find March’s ticket, April gasps, “Holy fucking shit, March, your dress has pockets!”

“Yeah! Isn’t it awesome?” says March. Like? Pockets! Even the bored ticket scanning dude looks impressed. “Oh, hey, that’s where I put my ticket.”

They’re scanned through, and in the soft, twinkly lights of the entryway April looks more beautiful than ever. Before March can open her mouth and say so, though, April is turning to her and asking, soft but sure, “Can I kiss you?”

March’s heart skips in her chest. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, affecting nonchalance, “I suppose you could. But like, whatever.”

“It’s whatever, is it?” asks April, grinning. And then she stretches up on her tiptoes a little, so that she can pull March in and kiss her.

It’s the heart cracking and the melting and all of it and March isn’t a swooner, historically, but there’s a first for everything. Several people wolf whistle and March tries not to roll her eyes, because that feels rude during a kiss. And April doesn’t flip them the bird, but she looks like she wants to a bit when they separate. Underneath that giddy, lovestruck grin, of course.

“I hate Winter Screw,” she says – still smiling, though, like she can’t help it.

March feels the same, on the smiling front, and she takes April’s hand again, because she can now. “I don’t know,” she says of the Screw, having to raise her voice over the godawful music as they reach the edge of the crowd. “I think this time around it’s been pretty good to us.”


End file.
